


shake the air

by mirroring



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Couple Clothing Woes, Friendly(?) Backstage Handjobs, M/M, light exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirroring/pseuds/mirroring
Summary: When Jaemin pulls back, his smile is overlarge, predatory. The whites of his eyes and teeth gleam in the low light. Sometimes he gets like this before a stage, prickly with energy, and he’ll drag one of them out to some dark and dusty broom closet exactly like this one to work it off.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 179





	shake the air

**Author's Note:**

> i started this after seeing the 00z pic where renhyuck and nomin were wearing couple shoes but then it turned out all of them owned both shoe styles anyway so theyre actually like quadrouple shoes. so the basis of this fic is factually incorrect but lets just... overlook that for now...

Renjun’s back hits the wall, his hair flattening against the unforgiving brick. He exhales through his nose, annoyed. “Jaemin-ah,” he hisses. The makeup noonas are going to give him hell if he shows up with incorrectly rumpled hair. It takes skill and artistry to rumple hair correctly, which Renjun respects, and Jaemin clearly does not.

Jaemin, who is occupying himself with nosing down the line of Renjun’s throat, just hums against the hollow of Renjun’s collarbone. The flat of his hand to Renjun’s stomach between their bodies presses Renjun firmly in place.

Actions speak louder than words, anyway. Renjun slides a hand into Jaemin’s hair, the strands brittle with hairspray between his fingers, and says, “You couldn’t have picked somewhere nicer?”

“Well,” Jaemin says, “unless you want to get off in front of the entire green room…”

“Try sounding less hopeful,” Renjun says. He isn't especially keen on giving in so soon, but Jaemin’s right by his pulse. Regretfully, there’s no way he didn’t notice the jump.

When Jaemin pulls back, his smile is overlarge, predatory. The whites of his eyes and teeth gleam in the low light. Sometimes he gets like this before a stage, prickly with energy, and he’ll drag one of them out to some dark and dusty broom closet exactly like this one to work it off. Better than doing it _during_ a stage, at least. Exhibitionism is, apparently, a hell of a drug. If the electric glow of heat radiating out from Jaemin’s palm where it’s burning Renjun’s skin through his shirt is any indication, Renjun is not immune.

“It’s more fun when you’re honest,” Jaemin says, but there’s a subdued edge to the usual lilt. Renjun hasn’t spent all those candlelit hours dragging emotional honesty out of Jaemin late at night for nothing; he can tell there’s something weighing on Jaemin’s mind.

Renjun sighs. Best to get it over with so they can go back to the operative point: getting off before someone realises they're missing. “What is it?”

“You have couple shoes with Donghyuck.”

And there it is. Lately Jaemin has developed a downright fixation on couple items. There isn’t a member in Dream who doesn’t have some piece of clothing to which Jaemin owns a paired match; soon Jaemin will be able to construct an entire outfit, accessories included, out of them, all the physical evidence of what ties him to others. But on Saturday he wheedled Renjun into splitting the cost of an Adidas tracksuit between the two of them, and Renjun’s decided that’s where he has to draw the line. 

“Nothing is stopping you from also getting couple shoes with Donghyuck,” Renjun says.

“I don’t want couple shoes with Donghyuck. Why did you get couple shoes with Donghyuck? You already have couple shoes with me.”

“What? You have couple shoes with Jeno too, do you see me being weird about that?”

“That’s different.”

“How the hell is it different? Are you the only person allowed to have matching things now?”

“Yes!” Renjun narrows his eyes. Jaemin frowns. “No?”

The sound of footsteps approaching outside slices through their whispered conversation like a guillotine. Reflexively Renjun slaps a hand over Jaemin’s mouth. They both freeze, locking up totally still. Renjun thinks his heart might explode out of his ribcage, its hammer so loud he’s sure it has to be audible past the closed door, and any moment light is going to flood the room and someone is going to _see_ them, the evidence of what they’re clearly about to do, and Jaemin still hasn’t moved his hand, heavy and warm and pinning Renjun against the wall like a butterfly mounted to a slide— 

The footsteps recede back into the distance. Heartbeat still clamouring in his ears, Renjun lets out a shaky, too-loud exhale that has Jaemin’s eyes crinkling up. Then Jaemin’s tongue drags a wet stripe across Renjun’s palm and Renjun yanks his hand back like he’s been scalded. 

“What is wrong with you? Are you Jeno?” Renjun hisses.

Jaemin’s mouth pulls down at the corners, overexaggerated. “I’m going to leave,” he threatens.

“You were the one who—we don’t have time for this,” Renjun says sharply. 

Jaemin gets the memo. He shifts closer, working a knee between Renjun's. The hard line of his thigh pushes up against Renjun's cock, and Renjun has to bite back the noise that wells up unbidden at the sudden relief of pressure, head tipping back against the wall. Jaemin's watching him carefully, eyes dark and intent, the full formidable force of Jaemin's attention more exposure than a stage light. “Aren't you eager today,” Jaemin says, low and smug. 

"Aren't you annoying today," Renjun retorts. Or at least tries to. Jaemin's got a hand on his cock through the fabric of his pants, playing dirty. Trapped between the wall and Jaemin there's nothing he can do but arch forward into Jaemin's light touch. A flush burns all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Jaemin dips his head to Renjun's neck. Just a hint of teeth, not enough to leave a mark. His free hand comes up to cup the front of his throat, over his Adam's apple, gesture of threat or gesture of ownership or gesture of affection. Generally it's hard to tell with Jaemin. 

"I only want what you want," Jaemin says. Breath falling warm and damp against the sensitive skin there; Renjun can't help the shiver that bristles over him. "Remember that one time we were backstage at Music Bank—"

Renjun drags Jaemin’s head up and kisses him, primarily to get him to shut the fuck up. It works on that front, but promptly backfires on him when Jaemin seizes his unfair physical advantage to take over the pace again, fingers to Renjun's jaw angling him how he likes. Jaemin kisses him like they have all the time in the world, so calculatedly tender it's unbearable, and he won't give an inch no matter what Renjun does, trying to crush Jaemin closer, biting at his bottom lip. He knows Jaemin gets like this with him because it's a surefire way to work him up, dragging things out in the worst possible situations for taking it slow until Renjun's incoherent and strung-out with stressed, clenched-jaw desperation and all he can do is let Jaemin do whatever he wants. Resistance giving way. On principle Renjun hates to cede anything to anyone, but in the moment he just really, really wants Jaemin to touch him properly.

"There you go, gorgeous," Jaemin murmurs, finally getting Renjun's pants undone and closing a spit-slick fist around him. Contact sets every nerve ending in Renjun's body alight. He can't respond, mouth parting on nothing. He's so hard it hurts, no way of hiding it, Jaemin's thumb smearing precome over the head of his cock, almost too much sensation. 

Renjun moves his hands up, wanting to cover his face or bite down on the meat of his palm, but before he gets there Jaemin divines his intent. In a swift and infuriatingly hot movement Jaemin gathers up both of his wrists and pins them above his head with the heel of a palm. 

"Can't take it?" Jaemin asks. Amusement clear in his voice, the bastard. His hand doesn't slow on Renjun's cock.

"Of course I can," Renjun grits out.

But like this it's a fucking impossible task to stay quiet as Jaemin torques his wrist, jacking Renjun's cock in long, sure strokes, just enough friction in the glide of skin on skin for that sweet sharp edge. Wordless gasps, barely stifled noises pressed into Jaemin's shoulder, back bowing forward. For his part Jaemin seems counterproductively hellbent on unravelling Renjun's composure in totality, like he's _trying_ to get them caught, not letting Renjun any space to regroup, gather his bearings. Maybe it's a little worrying how the thought of getting caught, burning with embarrassment, only flushes him harder, hips stuttering, pushing up helplessly into Jaemin's hands. Waves of tense heat prickle up his stomach, full-body ache he can feel even in his fingertips. His legs unsteady as liquid; he's pretty sure he's only upright thanks to the combined efforts of the wall behind him and Jaemin in front of him. And Jaemin just looks at him with that dark half-lidded gaze, working Renjun towards the brink.

Jaemin drops Renjun's wrists to slide his hand around the back of Renjun’s neck, thumb and fingers curving on opposites sides, the shocking heat of his palm pressed flat to the sweaty skin, and squeezes. Renjun freezes up, every muscle in his body drawing taut, and that’s enough to push him over the edge, Jaemin’s grip on his nape firm and unyielding as Renjun shakes apart so hard he's lightheaded with it. All the sounds caught at the back of his throat dislodging before Jaemin's mouth seals over Renjun's and swallows them down.

Jaemin doesn't move away through the aftershocks, perhaps out of consideration that Renjun might collapse to the floor without Jaemin to brace him in place. Once Renjun's vision mostly recovers and he's stopped gulping down shaky breaths, he half-blindly sets a hand to Jaemin's stomach. "Do you need—"

"I'm all good," Jaemin says. He grins. "Took care of myself while you were out of it."

Renjun frowns. "I would've helped you," he says. 

"I know."

Somehow Renjun is unconvinced. Jaemin likes giving other people what they want, casual in an obsessive way about it, but Renjun's ultimately a believer in reciprocation, even if only to stop himself from feeling indebted. This particular form of honesty is easier in the semidark.

After Jaemin's finished cleaning them both up with makeup wipes Renjun says, “You don’t need—you know people like you whether or not they’re matching with you, right?”

“Does _people_ include you?”

“Am I not a person now,” Renjun says flatly. 

The answering grin that splits Jaemin’s face in half is embarrassing to look at. Renjun reaches up to push his face away and finds his hand lingering on Jaemin’s cheek instead. The skin there powdery with BB cream, warm to the touch. They’ve been away too long; someone will come looking for them soon. Renjun draws his index finger down from ear to lip, tracing out the line of a headset mic. A reflexive softness rising up. Some things are better off staying in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> im posting this from my phone on airport wifi feel free to lmk if i fucked up any formatting & tell me your thoughts <3 am slowly trying to relearn how to write now that my exams are done lol


End file.
